


Strings Attached

by dearcst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, First Times, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Prodigy!Cas, artist!Cas, jealous!Dean, nerd!dean, punk!Cas, two dorks in dumb love and they mess it up but then make up, yea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcst/pseuds/dearcst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean scratched his head, running his hands through his hair. He felt like the world was supposed to stop spinning. He almost expected Cas to stay, maybe get some breakfast or something, but that was absurd. This is how it’s supposed to be right? Dean feels detached, sore in the chest from where strings were ripped.<br/>No strings attached. Right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strings Attached

**Author's Note:**

> So some special thank yous!!! ChristinMKay helped beta the first sex scene bc im terrible at smut like wow you probably already figured that out. Also Jillian for putting up with me ranting about my terrible writing skills and writers block with this story.  
> AND OBVIOUSLY: The anon who gave me this prompt im so sorry i got so carried away XD
> 
> (PS: The song In My Veins by Andrew Bell is perfect for this fic.  
> "Nothing goes as planned. Everything will break. People say goodbye in their own special ways. Oh you're in my veins, and I cannot get you out.")

                “What’s your name?”

                “Castiel! Yours?”

                “Dean.”

                is how it starts, June twenty-first in residence hall. Their words are shouted over the music at a loud party—a celebration for the first day of the freshman at Brown university. Dean, nerdy-yet-gorgeous as he was labeled at his high school, had bumped into the guy in the crowd. He was terrifying at first, honestly, full-on gothic with piercings and dyed hair. How a lip ring would ever be comfortable, Dean had no idea. He had a hard time believing the guy was actually there for being accepted into Brown. Though he was a cool guy, hot, too; despite his appearance he was pretty cool.

                They got talking about something mindless. Game of Thrones and Orphan Black. Dean was stricken by Castiel’s blue eyes and felt lost for a few seconds. A firm hand on his shoulder reaffirmed he was awake, and pulled him out to the patio where the music was a duller buzz. It was hot, summer weather. Castiel crossed his tattooed arms over his chest and Dean watched the ink crawl up the sleeve of his shirt. In the past, Castiel’s type of person would be the crowd Dean would ignore or even avoid, but something was _captivating_ about him. He allowed himself to linger closer than he really should have, arms brushing, shoulders bumping—he could feel Castiel’s breath tickle his cheekbone.

                Apparently everything about Dean changed the second he got on the plane from Kansas to Rhode Island. It ignited something inside him he’d never let loose before. He’d been reserved, obedient, and suddenly everything broke free. He grabbed Castiel by his spiked, leather vest and pulled him into a harsh, awkward kiss. Castiel jolted in surprise, and Dean bet his eyes were open, wide and blue. Though it was dark outside, having to be at least ten at night, Dean opened his eyes halfway to see the blue sky. Castiel was breathing harshly against his lips, hands useless on Dean’s shoulders. He was quiet, soft and pliant, everything Dean was a month ago. Where had all that gone now?

                Dean’s glasses clinked and hit awkwardly at the bridge of Castiel’s nose as he demanded, “More,” in a soft voice. He didn’t recognize himself.

                Castiel let out a breathy, “ _Dean_ ,” as if the word held the world.

                Dean’s back hit the metal barrier between the house and a lake beneath the story. Castiel’s chest pressed against his own, warm—Dean felt his heart through his shirt. Dean pulled his face backwards and looked up at the stars, and for a marvelous moment, he believed himself to be in heaven. Castiel, this stranger, pressed his lips to Dean’s neck and breathed in deeply through his nose.

                Someone shouted “Get a room!” which shocked Dean back into the present.

                Castiel seemed shaken as well because he pulled back sheepishly and looked up at Dean as if he were lost in what to do.

                “Well, should we?” Dean asked breathlessly at the same time he asked, _who am I?_

                Castiel’s hand spread out over his chest, his fingers sprawling out over his heart. He hesitated. Lips parted already, he forced his voice out, “Sure.”

                And Dean’s never done this before; by the look of things, Castiel hadn’t either. His hand was sweaty in his own and Dean pulled him towards his car.

                “Did you drive?” Dean asked him, voice casual, but anticipation, expectation was hanging heavy over his head.

                Castiel shook his head, “Carpool. I’ll text Meg to let her know to go home without me.”

                Dean nodded, vaguely wondering who _Meg_ was. Sister? Unlikely. Friend, probably. Then Castiel was in his passenger seat and Dean started up the car. His apartment wasn’t far; they were still on campus. Adrenaline set Dean ablaze as he started the quick drive home. It was the dead of night and the streets were nearly empty. It was quiet. Castiel’s cell phone lit up the car like a second sun—he was probably texting Meg.

                This is what college was supposed to be like, right? This was everything he expected? Commencing the one-night-stands and sleeping around? Everything felt too tight, strings tied up around his chest, and if he were expected to just cut them—no strings attached—he might fall, he might break. So he ignored that possibility, and drove a little faster. He pulled into the student parking and got out of the car. As if to further convince himself he could do this, he pulled Castiel into another slow kiss.

                Castiel moaned breathily against his lips and pressed his palm to Dean’s chest, “Upstairs,” he whispered softly, as if the words were only for Dean. They were.

                The next thing Dean remembers is a door slamming. He pressed Castiel up against it, the door handle knocking into his hip. Dean’s hands ventured to Castiel’s hip and led him away from the door and onto a nearby table. That wouldn’t be so comfortable either, so Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist and pulled him into his bedroom.

                His heart was beating quickly, so quickly Dean was afraid it would jump out of his chest. This was his room, his bed, and he was about to lose his virginity to a stranger he just met at a party. It felt like something he’d see on TV rather than something he’d actually experience. But here he was. He was normally so awkward and useless when it came to actually doing this. Flirting? He’s got that down pretty good; he can be smooth, cocky smiles and cheesy pick-up lines that work too well, but he’d always chickened out before it got this far. He’s going to be going to sleep tomorrow, the day after, every day after, and remember the time he brought home a guy covered in piercings and tattoos and had sex with him.

                They were pressed so closely together, which was supposed to happen, because they were having sex. Right? That’s what was happening?

                Castiel was lying on his back on the bed, feet flat on the mattress as he pulled off his T-shirt—yes that’s what’s happening.

                Dean followed his lead, then crawled shirtless overtop of him. There was skin on skin. He’d watched a considerable amount of porn but nothing ever could have prepared him for this. Castiel was responsive and he looked completely different now that he dropped his guard. His eyes were hazy and gentle, chest flushed and beautiful. Dean’s hands ran down his chest and his eyes over his tattoos.  There were symbols over his hipbone and other images on his chest and wings behind his ear.

                It was hot in the room, filled with puffs of heated breath and promise. Castiel raked his nails down Dean’s back and whispered something Dean couldn’t hear over the beating of his own heart.

                “ _Dean_ ,” Castiel urged again, “Top or bottom?”

                Dean’s brain ran endlessly. He didn’t know. He’d never thought this far, ever, so he busied himself with clawing Cas’ jeans off and mumbled, “whatever.”

                Castiel nodded absently and lifted his hips. Castiel was mumbling Dean’s name again, not without purpose, but without prompt. It’s as if everything he’d ever looked for was found in one syllable. Cas was hard, obviously, it’s not something Dean ever doubted, but it’s still new to see it. Dean was almost embarrassed, achingly hard himself, torn between asking for something or just rolling with it. He decided on just focusing on Cas for now. Which was easy. Because. He was just really hot and needy right now, y’know?

                Dean’s hands were almost hesitant as he ran his palm along Cas’ erection.  Castiel’s breath hitched; Dean ran his hands up his chest and over his nipples. He’d never been this close with another person. Suddenly all the strings were back, this was _intimate_ , it wasn’t feeling like a quick fuck. This was a complete stranger, yet here Dean was feeling attached.

                “We don’t have to go all the way,” Dean found himself saying, and maybe this was him chickening out again, maybe it was going to be easier to walk away if they didn’t actually go all the way, but he said it. Rushed and messily, he said it.

                Cas nodded. His blue and black hair flung out of his eyes, “Yeah,” he huffed. “Dean, just—touch me.”

                Dean was always good at this: following orders. His palm swept down Castiel’s midriff and he wrapped his fingers around the base of Cas’ dick. It was hot and pulsing; Castiel let out a groan. Encouraged, Dean stroked Cas slowly, his heart was beating and beating and beating, he leaned down—chest to chest, his lips on the shell of Cas’ ear, still stroking.

                “Mm, y’like that?” he mumbled, taken over by something proclaimed as sinful as lust. But this didn’t feel like sin. It felt pure—it felt natural. It felt right.

                “Yes, yes, yes,” Cas rambled, “Dean, please.”

                Dean was aching in his boxers, rutting against Cas’ thigh. Dean was mouthing at Cas’ neck like he’d done back at the party— _the party_ it felt so far away. Years away.

                Dean stroked Cas faster, more deliberately. He watched his face scrunch up with each stroke— and then Cas came, hot and wet over Dean’s knuckles. It was gorgeous—Cas’ back arched and gasping, overwhelmed, overstimulated. Chanting _Dean Dean Dean_ with his nails on his shoulder.

                He fell relaxed, Dean tense above him. His eyelids were heavy and he smiled freely. His palm pressed against Dean’s chest and he softly pushed him onto his back.

                “Thanks,” he mumbled lazily, sweetened by orgasm. “Should I suck you off?”

                Dean’s cheeks flushed by how blunt the question was phrased. He couldn’t bring himself to respond verbally so he nodded his head, torn between wanting to look away or stare ahead forever. Castiel pulled his boxers down to his knees and grabbed Dean’s length, pressing his tongue flat against the side of it and dragging it up to the tip.

                “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean cursed, fisting his hands in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling.

But Cas wasn’t just paying attention to what Dean wanted him to—he placed open-mouthed, wet kisses on the insides of his thighs, his hipbones, it left him desperate. This was actually happening. Dean was losing his virginity to a stranger. Wait, is it virginity if you don’t go all the way? Does that count—fuck, Dean can’t think. Doesn’t even fucking care.

                Cas’ mouth was hot and wet against him again. Dean mumbled, “Come on,” and Cas’ eyes flashed up at his with amusement dancing in them. Just when Dean was starting to feel self-conscious again, Cas wrapped his lips around the head of Dean’s cock, sliding up and down the head of his cock. Dean was panting in the darkness of the room, bucking up into the heat of Cas’ mouth. Cas gagged, and moved up with him. Dean took the hint to try to stay still, but it was fucking difficult. He was groaning, maybe mumbling something else unintelligible, all he could focus on was the heat of Cas’ mouth. Then Cas fucking _hummed_. Like he _enjoyed_ sucking Dean’s dick. Did he do this a lot?

                It was over too soon, and Dean came shouting, “ _Cas_ ,” almost reverently. Come dribbled out of Cas’ mouth and back onto Dean’s dick. His face scrunched up, and Dean imagined his spunk probably didn’t taste all that great.

                The sight was pretty funny actually and Dean huffed in laughter, grabbing the nearby box of tissues and handing it to Cas who promptly spit the rest out. Cas was sitting cross-legged, (naked and cross-legged, a sight Dean had never imagined seeing before) between his legs with a used tissue in his hands, a small smile on his lips.

                “Do you mind if I stay the night?” Cas asked. His voice was much more pleasant when it wasn’t fighting against the loud music at the party.

                Dean shrugged, “sure,” but he knew he was smiling.

                His bed was warmer than the night before, heated by a second body. The air around them was comfortable, acting as a second blanket. The clock on the nightstand lit up the room with 12:01, and Dean burrowed his head into the pillow. Classes started tomorrow. What a way to start the year.

~~*~~

                Dean woke alone.

                He scratched his head, running his hands through his hair. He felt like the world was supposed to stop spinning, but it was still there. _He_ was still there. He almost expected Cas to stay, maybe get some breakfast or something, but that was absurd. This is how it’s supposed to be right? Dean feels detached, sore in the chest from where strings were ripped.

                No strings attached. Right.

                He spent the day thinking about blue eyes every time he looked up. He felt hollow, almost. Dean pursed his lips. They went to the same college so there’s the chance they have some classes together. Dean shook his head and ran a hand through his hair again and sat through an hour long lecture about Shakespeare.

                But he wasn’t thinking about Shakespeare, not really. All he could think about was replays of the night before. On repeat, a skipping record. He couldn’t breathe without thinking about it. It was crazy, because he’d fooled around a little before, heavy make-out sessions, dry-humping, mutual masturbation, this wasn’t like it was so _new_ to Dean. Except it was. It so was.

                Dean tapped his pencil on his desk and watched spit fly from the professor’s lips in some kind of rant about rhetoric devices, or something like that. 

                He stumbled back into his apartment an hour later. His head hung heavy on his shoulders. The walls were boring because they weren’t blue.

                He placed his palm flat on the door as he closed it and avoided his bedroom for the next half hour. He made something quick to eat. A turkey sandwich with some chips. He raised a can of coke to his lips and toasted silently to college life.

                May it get increasingly better. It wouldn’t be that hard.

                May he meet Cas again, maybe.

                A day passed and Dean was able to joke around with his friends, Jo and Ash. Half of him felt like nothing changed, and the other half knew that everything had. The world tilted on its side, and then Jo asked if he was alright. He was.

                Or wasn’t. But that didn’t really matter.

                Later that day, Dean was in the public bathroom on campus, watching smoke puff up from one of the stalls.

                He coughed, and raised a hand to cover his nose. “Hey,” he grunted, “Is that even allowed?”

                The guy in the stall hummed a familiar hum, “Mm. No.”

                Like hell Dean could forget a voice like _that_.

                He walked up to the stall and pushed the door open. It wasn’t locked.

                “Cas?” he asked in disbelief. I mean. It wasn’t that unlikely they’d run into each other sooner or later. They did go to the same college after all. But after that long day yesterday it just felt like the forever kind of goodbye.

                Cas grinned wide and gummy. “Dean,” he fucking _purred_ , “Hey.”

                “Um,” Dean said eloquently. He’d prepared a speech, probably, in a dream, but it was hazy because you always forget 70% of the dream in the five minutes you wake up.

                “Missed you,” Cas said, “C’mere.”

                Cas dropped the joint in the toilet and pulled Dean by the coat towards him, an echo of what Dean did to him at the party. Dean wanted to say, “you missed me?” because he wasn’t sure if he heard Cas right, but that would require pulling away from his lips. Which he wouldn’t do, obviously.

                Cas was much more relaxed this time, more demanding. His hands fisted and unfisted in Dean’s shirt. He tasted like whatever the hell he was just smoking. Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Dean pulled on Cas’ lip ring like he wished he’d done yesterday, but that doesn’t really matter now, because he has him again. The strings were back, tangled up.

                Have you ever played that game where you have this string tied in a large circle, and you twist it up by pulling it through your fingers, and then ask someone to put their finger in the middle so that when you pull your hand out of the strings you have them caught?

                That’s Dean. Except he can’t get his fucking hands untangled.

                Cas chuckled against his mouth and pressed him against the other side of the wall. For a second Dean believed maybe Cas was going to just take him in there. For a second, Dean might have hoped he would. It’s as if everything Dean had ever held onto and kept to himself, he wanted to give it all to Cas. And he didn’t even know the guy. He didn’t even know this hippie and he wanted to cough up his heart and put the bloody thing in his open palms.

                They were done kissing now. Or, that is to say they weren’t kissing anymore, not that Dean was done.

                Cas was breathing on his face, an inch or two away, and normally Dean would hate it because he still smelled like smoke, but he didn’t care. Cas had a sloppy smile on his face, and his thumb ran over Dean’s cheekbone.

                He was done. Fucking hook and sinker. Done.

                “’m gonna give you my number,” Cas slurred.

                Dean nodded embarrassingly fast. Cas’ hands were patting down Dean’s jean pockets and then pulling his phone out, stepping away to look at it. He acted as if he’d never seen a phone before, squinting at it and holding it at arms-length away.

                “If I can… Remember it…” Cas mumbled, “Four-seven-two… Seven… two…”

                Dean bit his lip in concealed laughter. “You okay there, man?”

                “Fucking great.”

                “Here I’ll just—“ Dean pulled a pen out of his bag and grabbed Cas’ hand.

                Cas laughed, maybe he was ticklish or something. Dean wrote his name and number on the back of Cas’ hand.

                “There,” he grinned and took his phone back. “When you sober up put that in your phone.”

                Castiel nodded solemnly. “I will.”

                The air around them stilled and their words fell to their feet like rain into puddles. It was quiet. Comfortable-quiet, but still quiet. Dean didn’t want to leave, but he was starting to get more aware of where they were because he’d finally touched the ground again and could smell piss and weed.

                “D’you wanna go somewhere?”

                Cas smiled wider, “Sure.”

                Cas rambled about bees the entire walk to the coffee shop. About how most of the best food in the world wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for bees, how everyone should plant more flowers to save bees, and how he had a bee farm back in Illinois.

                “You’re from Illinois?”

                “Yup,” Cas nodded one deep nod, dipping his head down slowly and then it bobbed back up. “I loved bees. I was sad to leave them, but I hired a very trusted bee-keeper to keep them safe while I’m gone.”

                “Cool,” Dean said absently, and what’s more is he actually _meant_ it. He wanted to know more useless facts about Cas.

                Which was convenient because high-Cas liked to ramble on about a lot of useless facts about himself. Like how he’s an art major, loves sculpting, hates any math class he has to take and already took them all as soon as he could, (which was hard to believe since they just started, but he was also high, so Dean was starting to question how much of what he was saying was true.)

                “What year are you?”

                “Freshman,” Cas confirmed, and then started to talk about how he wanted to make one of his bees God of the world because they would do the job much better. “Bees are so _caring_!” Cas waved his arms wide as they entered the shop. Dean pulled Cas’ arms back down to his sides and gave apologetic looks to the other people in the shop.

                Cas ordered a caramel frappé and Dean ordered a black coffee. They chose a seat by the window. Cas was telling him about his new assignment in ceramics, and looking out the window. His pupils were large, his grin larger. In the time of the ten-minute-walk from the bathrooms to the coffee shop Dean had learned that Cas loved art, but not drawing, just making stuff with clay. He loved bees and nature and loved anything sweet. He ate PB & J every day for lunch for the last six years since he first made one, (and who even grew up without having PB & J when they were like two years old?) and hated it when he tried strawberry jelly instead of grape because strawberries just taste funny. He hated math, like _hated_ it with a deep passion. His eyes would get far away and he’d clench his jaw, which made Dean think it wasn’t just math that he hated, but he didn’t push the subject because Cas started rambling about something else.

                “When I was fourteen I broke into Sea World and stole a killer whale.”

                “I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, Cas,” Dean laughed.

                Cas’ eyes got really big, “No, really! I mean—I think I also flew, like with actual wings (that I don’t have any more obviously) that same day—Well that was a dream. Never mind.”

                Dean nodded and peered over the rim of his coffee cup. He leaned back in the booth and watched Cas’ face as it moved dramatically with every sentence. He vaguely wondered how this day would have went if Cas were sober, but he didn’t care because it’d still be Cas. Maybe it was best he started to get him when he was high. He seemed more open.

                ”We should date,” Cas said suddenly in the middle of talking about monkeys, jolting Dean out of a trance.

                “O-Oh?” Dean flushed. “Well—Sure.”

                Cas nodded seriously. “Yes. I’ll be your boyfriend. This works.”

~~*~~

                They were still going out months later. Cas was everything Dean never expected to like. He was the exact image of the crowd his father had warned him not to hang around. He was everything Dean needed. Cas came over after his classes and spent the night more times than not. He was a terrible cook, but loved cleaning, so Dean would cook and Cas would clean. Their entire relationship was a perfectly choreographed dance.

                “What do you imagine we’d fight about?” Cas asked him one day, his hands around Dean’s waist as Dean grilled burgers. Cas’ chin fit into Dean’s shoulder like a missing puzzle piece. “People say the best of pairs stay together even through fights, but we’ve never fought.”

                Dean fought the urge to shrug because he didn’t want to disrupt Cas’ head. “Dunno,” he said honestly. He’d never met anyone he clicked with more than Cas.

                Cas kissed Dean’s neck and Dean laughed softly.

                “How’s your project going?”

                Cas fell away from Dean, and Dean mentally grabbed back at the air for his words if it meant Cas’ body press against his own again.

                “It’s going really well, actually. I’m really liking it.”

                Cas was sitting atop the table, kicking his feet like a little kid and Dean smiled to himself. The entire thing seemed so domestic. Here he was, nineteen and already feeling like a married man. And he was at heart—married. He flipped the burgers onto a plate and fixed the bread, bringing the plate to the table, but abandoning it in favor of bringing Cas’ face to his own.

                “Dean,” Cas smiled like he did. He said his name so reverently, as if he knew every language but none could properly hold the same amount of emotion as “Dean.”

                Dean held Cas’ chin and directed their lips together. The kiss was slow and wet, Cas pushed closer and hummed. He did a lot of humming. Dean wondered if Cas liked singing. He’d ask later.

                Dean fit himself between Cas’ knees, his waist against the table’s edge. Cas’ legs wrapped around Dean’s waist as the kiss deepened. He hummed some more.

                “Dean,” he murmured, though this time it sounded deliberate.

                Dean ignored him, pushing his hand through Cas’ hair and threading his fingers between the locks. Their lips smacked together and then Cas pulled away; Dean chased him.

                “Dean, the burgers,” Cas said half-heartedly. “They’ll get cold.”

                Dean shook his head and pulled Cas closer. “Don’t care.”

                “ _Dean_.”

                “What? Not like we don’t have a microwave.”

                Cas laughed, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and getting more comfortable. “Fine, then.”

                “Mm, you gonna give me what I want?”

                “Depends. What do you want?” Cas teased, kissing Dean’s lips quickly and then leaning back to look into his eyes.

                Dean pretended to think for a second, pressing his lips together and looking up at the ceiling.

                “Hmm… You,” Dean decided and picked Cas up from the table.

                “ _Dean!_ ” Cas shouted incredulously, “Put me down!”

                Honestly, Cas was pretty heavy, probably Dean’s weight, so he put Cas down, laying him on his back on the dining room table. Cas’ knees were knocking into Dean’s shoulders now as he kissed him. Dean felt his heart beating faster again, he grinned and tugged on Cas’ lip ring with his teeth. Cas gave a small moan and let his head fall back, thumping on the wood.

                “Dean,” he repeated meaninglessly.

                Dean kissed his neck, moving down to his collarbone.

                “We _eat_ here, Dean,” Cas weakly protested again.

                “I’ll eat you here then,” Dean grinned, and a dark blush danced over Cas’ cheekbones.

                “I didn’t mean it like that! I— _Ah_ —“

                Dean palmed Cas’ crotch through his jeans, thumbing at the zipper. All further protests died on Cas’ tongue, replaced with breathless pleas. Cas’ chest heaved up and down as Dean unzipped him and tugged the jeans down to his knees. He mouthed at his dick through his boxers. Cas was already hard, already beautifully flushed. Cas’ legs were thrown over Dean’s shoulders, and he curled his toes as he tilted his head back more.

                “Please, Dean,” Cas breathed out softly, “Stop teasing.”

                “You look so pretty, though,” Dean smirked, running his tongue over the head of Cas’ dick tenting his boxers.

                Cas bucked his hips up and whined again, “ _Dean_.”

                Dean decided enough was enough and pulled the waistband of his boxers down enough to expose him. He drank in the sight like wine, leaning forward tentatively to kiss the tip.  Cas made another needy sound and Dean took his cue to wrap his lips around the head, licking at the slit slowly.

                “Ah- Ah-“ Cas breathed, eyes wide. He bucked his hips up again.

                Dean’s hands stilled Cas’ hips and his thumbs rubbed his hip bones. Cas spread his hands out on Dean’s head, moving his fingers back and forth slowly as if he were petting him.

                “So good,” Cas said as if it were a promise, “Please, more.”

                With him asking so nicely, who’s Dean to deny him? Dean relaxed his throat and slid down slowly until his nose nestled in the wiry hair at the base. Cas sucked in a big gulp of air; he let out a soft, “ _Oh_. _Oh,_ _Dean_.”

                Dean let go of Cas’ hips and their eyes locked for a moment, speaking wordlessly. Cas gasped and shifted his hips to fuck Dean’s face. Dean closed his eyes, moaning softly as Cas slowly thrust into his mouth. The grip on Dean’s hair tightened and Cas thrust faster, more desperate, lost in a sea of _Oh_ ’s and _Dean_ ’s.

                Cas groaned deeply and his body arched as he came down Dean’s throat. Dean opened his eyes, finding Cas’ lidded and relaxed, full of heavy emotion Dean didn’t want to read too much into. He slid off Cas’ dick and ran his hands up and down his sides.

                Cas sat up slowly and pulled Dean towards him, his hands still fisted in his hair. Cas slid to the edge of the table again and ran his hand down and untucked Dean’s shirt, undoing his belt and then his jeans to slip his hand into Dean’s pants to reciprocate. Dean’s breath hitched in their kiss as Cas gripped him firmly and gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

                “You should fuck me,” Cas whispered, his words slow like dripping corn syrup, and they hit their mark.

                Dean gasped and pushed Cas over again. “Yeah?”

                “Mm.”

                Dean held Cas’ wrists on either side of his head, leaning above him with dark eyes.

                “You should get to the bed, then,” Dean mumbled back and stole a last kiss before he let Cas up.

                They hadn’t gone this far before. One of them always found a way to skirt around it, but now Cas was here, saying things like “fuck me,” and Dean was going crazy. Cas’ jeans dropped to the floor as he got up and he pulled his shirt off, too, walking towards the bedroom. He cast a look back at Dean.

                Cas was spread out over Dean’s bed when Dean walked in. It felt like a fantasy. Not necessarily the wet-dream type of fantasy, (though that, too,) but more like the fairy-tale type fantasy. He couldn’t believe someone like Cas was in his life. It was too good to be true because Dean always ends up screwing things up. Cas, dorky guy who looks like he’d kill you with a glance, but he’s really just a little kid at heart. Who likes bees, and pancakes, and peanut-butter-and-jelly. He’s all Dean’s.

                Dean stripped before he met the foot of the bed, crawling between Cas’ legs. He ignored his nerves, and pulled Cas into a slow kiss. His hands felt down Cas’ torso and waist. Cas was starting to get hard again, and he moaned softly against Dean’s soft touches. Dean’s fingers danced against Cas’ ribcage and dipped into his navel. He ran his hands over Cas’ thighs, inside of them, pulling his cheeks apart and placing a kiss on Cas’ rim. Cas called out Dean’s name, and his hands were in Dean’s hair like he always liked to do.

                Dean pressed his tongue flat against Cas’ asshole and pressed into it.

                “Nng,” Cas mumbled, “ _Dean_.”

                Dean glanced up and felt Cas pulling on his hair.

                “Don’t like it,” Cas clarified, “Just your fingers.”

                Dean blushed and nodded, opening the bedside drawer to get the lube. He squirted a generous amount onto his fingers and slowly slid a finger into Cas’ hole. He was tense, breathing quickly; Dean shushed him, though he wasn’t speaking, and kissed his neck.

                “S’all right,” Dean slurred, “Gonna take care of you.”

                Cas nodded quickly, though he was still tense.

                “You okay?” Dean watched Cas’ face for any sign of hesitation. He had an unreadable expression on his face. Dean pulled his finger out and leaned up closer to him. “You okay?” he repeated, worried.

                Cas nodded again. “I’m okay. Just—Just nervous. Keep going.”

                “If you’re not okay with this we can just do something else,” Dean offered, and there was that possibility, hanging over his head, the bright, glowing _turn back_ sign that’d always been there.

                Cas shook his head furiously. “No! Don’t stop, please. I just—“ Cas took in a shuddering breath. “I’m sort of new to this.”

                Dean blinked. “Really?” came out before he could stop it.

                Cas brought his hands up and covered his face. The tips of his ears were pink. Dean leaned up and pried his hands away from his face.

                “Cas, what’s wrong?”

                “I’m—I’m sorry—“ Cas stumbled over his words, looking anywhere but Dean’s face. “I just—I’m a virgin, I know it’s dumb, but I’ve just—I’ve never—“

                “Hey, hey, hey,” Dean calmed him. He held Cas’ hands in his own and forced his eyes to his own. “It’s okay. Why are you apologizing?”

                “I- I like you a lot,” Cas mumbled, “I don’t want you to leave. My last boyfriend left because he wanted someone… Experienced. I- I look like it, I guess, experienced. He said he felt like I lied to him.”

                Dean looked at Cas incredulously. “Seriously? That guy’s a fucking dick.”

                Cas was quiet, watching Dean like he hung the stars, and Dean didn’t like being looked at like that. He didn’t deserve it. Dean distracted him with another kiss. He coaxed Cas to relax again. His lips were soft and unforced.

                “If it helps, I am too,” Dean admitted. “I mean, I’ve fooled around in the back of the car, in the bathrooms and stuff, but I’ve never—“ he paused, eyes captured by Cas’, “Had something. Like this. Never gone all the way. Sure as shit never felt like this.”

                Cas nodded, dazed, “yeah. _Come on_ , please.”

                Dean gave Cas one last lingering kiss and reapplied the lube and started fingering again. A small whine came up from Cas’ throat, and he clawed at Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean had two fingers in now, sliding them in and out faster, scissoring and stretching him out. He didn’t think. He didn’t want to think about it. If he thought too long he’d chicken out again, and he didn’t want to. This was the last thing he had to give Cas, and he wanted to give it to him. He needed to give it to him. If Dean was anything he was reckless and he was a coward. Not in the conventional ways, being too afraid to stand up for oneself or too afraid to go on the highest ride at the theme park, but afraid of showing too much of himself. Of entrusting himself in another person. He tended to cling to his heart, and now it was falling from his chest into Cas’ accepting hands.

                No strings attached was never an option in the first place. Dean realized that now.

                Cas was completely relaxed, breathing heavily, deeply, as if he could pull the air from Dean’s lungs and breathe it into his own. Dean could feel he was ready, could feel it was time, but he took an extra few minutes. Whether that was him putting this off longer, or just wanting to make sure Cas was as stretched as possible, he didn’t know.

                He was stuck on Cas like glue, tangled up in him like shoe laces.

                “Dean,” Cas moaned, eyes lidded and dark with lust, “Please. I’m ready.”

                Dean nodded. Anticipation choked him. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the lube again to slick himself up. They didn’t need a condom did they? It was the first time for both of them, they were both clean, he didn’t think they needed a condom. Dean couldn’t think about it much longer because Cas wiggled his hips and made another needy sound. Dean leaned down over him and buried his hands in Cas’ hair.

                They were making out again, like the teenagers they were. Cas moaned into Dean’s mouth, an obvious, nonverbal _get on with it_. Dean pushed the head of his cock into Cas’ heat, groaning deeply, heart stuttering in his chest. He pushed in entirely until his balls hit Cas’ skin; Cas grabbed at Dean’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist.

 He held that position, breathing as sparingly as he could. He felt like—if he were to shift, he’d wake.

                “ _Oh_ ,” Cas gasped, “Oh, Dean. Please.”

                Everything felt so intimate. Dean pulled out and slowly thrust in again, biting Cas’ neck and sucking a hickey there. They moved in perfect rhythm, incredible rhythm; Dean panted heavily over Cas’ neck as he thrust again and again. He catalogued all the sound Cas would make. All the little small whines and moans, and also the loud, needy cries and groans. Any hesitance either of them had was gone now, acting on everything they’ve ever needed.

                Need was bottled up so tightly, a shaken bottle of soda, and it burst. Dean thrust in deeper, harder, and Cas raked his nails down Dean’s back again, saying, “ _Oh_ ,” and “ _Dean_.” Dean reached down and started jacking Cas off, trying to get him closer to the edge. Dean was always afraid of falling. It’s why he never left the ground, but here he was— grabbing Cas by the hand and running for the cliff.

                And they jumped.

~~*~~

                It was August when the first semester ended.  Classes started up again September ninth, and with two weeks going by without a hitch, Dean was getting anxious. His relationship with Cas was everything he could ever hope for, his grades were nearly perfect, and he couldn’t be happier. Which made him anxious. Every time he was happy like this something happened to trip him up.

                Cas laid with him on the couch. They were watching some Marvel movie and Cas had his hands in Dean’s hair. Friday nights were always spent watching a movie; it was cliché, but Dean loved it at the same time. Cas didn’t like popcorn, and Dean loved red vines, so their snacks consisted of very unhealthy pizza, cans of coke, and red vines. Dean had become so accustomed to Cas constantly being there, falling asleep alone became harder every day.

                But he couldn’t bring himself to ask Cas to move in. That was too big of a step. They’d only been dating four months. Dean shook himself free of these complicated thoughts and moved closer, nestling into Cas’ chest. Just in that moment, Cas’ phone rang.

                Grumbling, Cas dug his phone out from his pocket and glared at the screen. The atmosphere shifted.

                “I’ll be right back,” he excused himself, “It’s my mom.”

                Cas went into the kitchen with the phone, and even though he was giving an effort to be quiet, Dean could still hear every word. Dean felt something uncomfortable settle in his chest.

                _“I don’t care_ ,” Cas yelled in a whisper. He clenched his teeth and his fist, eyes hard and unwavering at the wall. “I shouldn’t have to do whatever you want just because I’m _good_ at it. I don’t like it, I’ve told you I hate it. I’m an _artist_ ,” a short pause. “I don’t _want_ to be both!”

 Cas paused again. Probably something his mom was saying on the other line. Dean stared resolutely at the movie. Things were blowing up, but Dean couldn’t take his mind off Cas. He couldn’t stop from listening. He’d never seen Cas like this. Cas had only ever been easy-going and free, and now he was darker and edgier. He was starting to see more of the personality-wise goth in him. He’d always wondered what caused him the make-over.

“Well I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment,” Cas seethed and there was silence—finality.

                Cas slammed his phone down on the counter and took a few seconds to breathe. Dean didn’t like seeing Cas like this, he didn’t want him worked up like this; he walked up behind him and slid his arms around his waist.

                “Hey,” he said gently, “You okay?”

                Cas relaxed into Dean’s embrace, “Yeah,” he mumbled.

                “Need to talk about it?”

                “No.”

                Dean bit his words back. He shouldn’t push the subject if Cas didn’t want to talk about it. Instead he kissed the back of his neck, then up to his ear and the side of his face. Cas laughed, turning around and stealing a kiss on the lips. The atmosphere was carbonated water, bubbly and soft—electric.

                Dean pulled Cas back to the couch, to the movie. He teased him with red vines and got pizza sauce on his shirt, but Cas still seemed distracted. The movie was ending, the sun was falling.

                “Are you gonna stay?” Dean mumbled.

                Cas shrugged. “I probably shouldn’t. I have an early class tomorrow.”

                Dean nodded and pressed his lips together. Something between them felt fractured, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was him or if it was just something about the phone call. He let it go, though.

                He didn’t see Cas at all the day after. It wasn’t that unusual because they didn’t have any classes together, but usually they called or texted. When another day of silence passed, Dean called him in the afternoon. He didn’t pick up. Half a week passed. He wore his phone battery down calling again.

                Just when Dean was starting to get worried, Cas’ name lit up his caller ID.

                “Cas,” he breathed, “Geez you’ve been a ghost.”

                “Come get your boyfriend,” a sultry voice said in place of Cas’.

                “Who is this?” Dean demanded, already walking towards his keys and jacket. “Where’s Cas?”

                “He took something. High as hell. Normally I can handle him but he’s been whining about you. I’ll text you the address.”

                The phone clicked signaling that the person on the other end hung up. Something hot and angry lit Dean in the chest, irrationally angry—why the hell would Cas be avoiding him to go get high of all things? He tried not to dwell on it for long. He got in the car.

                The place the address took him to was what looked like a used-to-be parking garage. It was like some kind of drug den. There were guys and girls walking aimlessly, laughing hysterically or babbling about nothing. Dean’s pretty sure there was a threesome happening in the corner but he wasn’t going to think about that.

                “Dean?” the voice from the phone. A short, dark-haired girl smiled at him. She had a snake-like demeanor, and Dean wasn’t so sure he liked this chick.

                “Yeah? Who’re you?”

                “Meg,” the girl flashed a smile and turned around to lead Dean to another room.

                This room smelled particularly terrible, like parts had been used as a toilet, or just to cook whatever the hell these people were high on. Cas was lying on his back, arms wide like angel wings. His hair was matted and sticky, probably with sweat and dirt. He wore an absent grin. He bore empty eyes.

                “He’s so pretty,” Cas mumbled as Dean approached. “He’s got freckles and I just wanna count ‘em all. I tried one time when he was sleeping, but I got angry because counting reminds me…”

                Cas’ eyes caught Dean’s and he rolled up to his feet. He stood shakily, with great effort, and held onto Dean’s shoulder to steady himself. Dean felt his chest hollow; he didn’t know what to make of this.

                “I like you,” Cas said pointedly, “You. Dean,” he hung on his arm heavily, “Oh, Dean, I like you. You’re good to me. I don’t disappoint you.” Then Cas pulled back and looked at Dean’s eyes, looking much sadder, “I don’t disappoint you, do I?”

                “No!” Dean helped keep Cas standing heavily. “We’re leaving.”

                Dean’s body was tense, teeth clenched, and Meg caught him just before he left the room.

                “By the way, Dean,” she called. “Your boyfriend’s a great kisser.”

                Dean tightened his grip on Cas’ coat, wondering what the hell she meant by that, but didn’t stick around so she could enjoy his reaction.

                The walk back to the car was tense on Dean’s side but flutteringly light on Cas’. Dean regretted not pressing whatever the phone call was about yesterday if it led Cas to do this. Dean felt like he was filled to the brim with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever he’s feeling, there’s a lot of it, and Dean isn’t sure if it’s good or bad. It feels more bad than good.

                Cas started talking again by the time he sat in the passenger seat. He was just talking about Dean.

                “Dean is so nice to me. So good to me. He makes me so happy,” Cas grinned, “He doesn’t expect much of me. I’m able to just be me and he’s okay with that. I like him. I like him so, so much. Do you have someone you like?”

                “Yeah,” Dean mumbled, “And he’s a little crazy hippie.”

                Cas laughed. “I like Dean more than you like your little crazy hippie. Promise.”

                Dean’s heart lifted momentarily. He glanced over at Cas’ glazed, ecstatic eyes.

“I dunno ‘bout that, Cas.”

                Cas shook his head impossibly fast. “No, you don’t understand, it’s just _not possible_.”

                “Oh?” Dean smiled.

                “I like Dean _so much_.”

                Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing.

                “He’s got really nice bright green eyes. And he’s gentle with me. And he didn’t care that I wasn’t experienced. And he didn’t leave me. And he always picks the best movies for movie night. And he makes really good food. I like his food a lot. I like his food more than my bees.”

                Cas paused.

                “Wait no. I like my bees more.”

                Dean laughed, and watched Cas out of the corner of his eye as he drove.

                “I didn’t eat peanut-butter-and-jelly for lunch yesterday,” Cas confided. “I ate leftovers from our dinner the night before.”

                Dean’s heart swelled. He didn’t know what to think. He was void of emotion, or maybe just filled with one particular emotion he was too much of a coward to label. He pulled into the student parking and pulled Cas up to his apartment. He’d only been at Cas’ place twice. Cas said he liked coming to Dean’s better. They started up the stairs.

                The mood dulled like the sun moving behind a cloud.

                “Dean,” Cas said suddenly, seemingly sober, but his pupils were still too large for that to be a possibility, “If you were really good at something, and I mean _really_ good, would you like it?”

                Dean heard an echo of the phone conversations behind his words, and Dean felt like a lot was riding on his next words. He unlocked the door and led them both into the apartment.

                “Yeah,” he answered honestly. “If I was really good at something, I guess I’d enjoy it. Just because I was doing something good.”

                Cas pursed his lips. “Right.”

                “But it’s not like it’s bad if you don’t like it,” Dean rushed to say. He felt like he was bowling blind, hoping he’d knock down some pins. “Whatever makes you happy, do that. Whatever doesn’t, don’t.”

                Cas grinned widely. “Yeah.”

                Cas flopped down on the sofa and he sighed. Dean was in the kitchen, trying to make something for Cas to eat so he could sober up quicker. Also because he liked his food almost better than his bees. He ended up just warming up some left over burgers and bringing them over to the couch. He wanted to say something. He wanted to know more about what exactly Cas was talking about. They ate in relative silence for a few minutes until Dean couldn’t keep it in anymore.

                “So what is it?” Dean blurted. “What is it you’re so good at?”

                Cas stopped chewing, staring at the ground. “Um,” he stuttered, “Math.”

                Dean almost laughed, but then saw Cas’ serious expression, so he decided against it.

                “ _Math?_ ”

                “Yeah,” Cas admitted. “ _Prodigy_ , they say. Like I’m _special_. It was just always so easy to me, it wasn’t interesting, it just came easily. You don’t have to take the courses, you just have to pass the finals, so I just took all the finals and passed them all without missing a single question. My parents wanted me to go into engineering or something ‘better’ so I’d be ‘successful.’ I mean, they’d bring over all these mathematicians and I’d be able to work alongside them at the age of seven. Solve problems even they were having trouble with. I don’t like math and they want me to do it _professionally_.”

                Dean was at a loss of what to say. They sat among waves of silence, coming back for them again.

                “Why did you avoid me?”

                Cas watched the wall. Dean wondered what was so interesting about it.

                “Dunno,” Cas mumbled, “Habit. When I get like this I call Meg.”

                Dean immediately soured at the mention of her. That emotion was back, the one that Cas chased away with his cute rambling about Dean’s freckles.

                “Who is that bitch?” he blurted out of pure… it. Jealousy? Everything blurred.

                Cas jerked away from him, “She’s not a _bitch_.”

                “Oh you’re her _friend_?” Dean didn’t know what was making him say this. Everything was just coming up from his throat, these words all clawing their way out of their own volition.

                “Yes,” Castiel said sternly.

                Dean scoffed, “Makes sense.”

                Castiel stood, eyes hazed but starting to clear, “What are you saying?”

                “I don’t like her. I don’t want you hanging out with her,” Dean clenched his teeth.

                “You don’t get to decide who I’m friends with, Dean.”

                “Well why not?” Dean was standing now, too, “I mean you can go get high and party with Meg, but you can’t even pick up the phone all week for me? Is she more important to you?”

                “You’re _both_ important to me!” Castiel shook his head, incomprehension painted over his face.

                “Obviously not.”

                “Dean, you’re being unreasonable.”

                “Yeah. I’m the one snorting and smoking and injecting shit to get over my mommy issues. Poor you. Your biggest problem is that you’re too smart.”

                Castiel flinched as if physically hit. His face was white, eyes wide in disbelief. His hands shook at his sides.

                Dean took in a deep breath and he regained himself.

                “Wait. I- I didn’t mean that,” he tried, but Castiel was already talking over him.

                “You judgmental, inconsiderate _asshole_!”

                “Cas—“

                Castiel stormed past Dean and ran for the door. Before Dean could take another breath, he was left alone in a room, feeling much colder than he truly was.

~~*~~

                Dean stayed in bed all day the next day. He skipped class. He didn’t have any exams for a while. He would give anything to take back what he said—he didn’t mean it at all. He’s perfectly aware he shouldn’t be allowed to choose who Cas is friends with, he knows how much of a sore spot his mom’s view of him is, and he knows how much he hurt Cas with what he said.

                So this was it? Everything he’d ever given up for Cas was gone? It was for nothing? And everything he’d ever felt—he was just supposed to throw that away or ignore it? He was supposed to keep going through the world as if he hadn’t fallen in love with a dork and then screwed it all up?

                He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t get out of bed the entire day. He thought, maybe if he were to force himself through enough suffering it would make up for what he said to Cas, but it didn’t work like that. He wanted Cas home. He wanted him to barge in after his art history class like he always did and demand Dean make something for him to eat because he’s really hungry.

                Dean watched the sun crawl across the sky. Maybe he’d go blind.

                That next morning Dean forced himself out of bed. His head ached as if he had a bad hangover. He swallowed thickly and walked to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror, and taking a quick shower. The water was blisteringly hot.

                Dean didn’t bother getting dressed, just walked back to his bed with a towel slung around his waist. He flopped on his stomach, turning his head to the side. He hated it—hated this bed now that it was empty. _Fuck_ , he was so stupid.

                He should call Cas. Just apologize and beg for forgiveness because he can’t live without him. It had only been two days and it felt like years. He felt like he was suffocating.

                He forced himself up and grabbed his bag, notebooks and his phone falling out.  It was dead. Like him. Ha.

                Dean plugged the phone in, the five minutes it took to charge and turn on were spent with Dean trying to prepare what he could possibly even say.

                He had twelve new texts, coming in one after another, all sent two nights ago.

**[Cas SENT 10:21 PM] I’m sorry**

**[Cas SENT 10:21 PM]  I didn’t mean it. You’re not an asshole.**

**[Cas SENT 11:02 PM] Come over**

**[Cas SENT 11:02 PM]  Please?**

**[Cas SENT 1:37 AM] Dean please don’t leave me**

**[Cas SENT 1:37 AM] Dean**

**[Cas SENT 1:37 AM] Fuck I’m a mess**

**[Cas SENT 1:38 AM] I can’t stop crying. I just need you here**

**[Cas SENT 1:38 AM] I need you**

**[Cas SENT 1:46 AM] I love you**

**[Cas SENT 2:01 AM] Please**

**[Cas SENT 4:55 AM] you don’t care do you**

                Dean cursed, throwing his phone down and grabbing clothes to throw on quickly. His heart was in his throat. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ —

                “Shit!” Dean slammed his hand in the car door. He was shaking, probably not in the best condition to drive, but he needed to get to Cas’ place.

                He’d never broken so many traffic laws in 9 minutes.

                He buzzed Cas’ apartment, and fucking _Meg_ of all people answered. Dean wanted to laugh. She let him up, though, Dean still wanted to punch her in the face, but that wasn’t what he came here to do.

                “He wanted me to give him something to numb out,” Meg said as she opened the door, “Said no. Didn’t want him overdosing.”

                Dean’s skin chilled. “’Kay,” he mumbled.

                “I’ll leave you alone,” she was still talking.

                Then she left.

                The apartment was large, bigger than Dean’s, nicer, more expensive. Dean chewed on his bottom lip and tapped on Cas’ door.

                “I want juice,” Cas’ voice was raw and muffled. Dean peeked in to see his face buried in his pillow.

                Without a word, Dean goes to the kitchen and fumbles around, trying to find some kind of juice. He had a bunch of different kinds, guava, orange, grape, apple, cranberry— Dean just grabbed whichever one looked emptiest, which happened to be the guava juice, just about half an inch left in the container. He poured it into a glass and brought it back. It was set down on the bedside table with an audible _clink_.

                Cas sat up—he looked _terrible_.  Puffy eyes, crazy hair, distraught features—and then he looked up and realized it was Dean in his room, not Meg.

                His eyes went wide and he sat back on his bed, grabbing his blanket and pulling it up in front of his chest in defense. “Dean?” he croaked, “What are you—What are you doing here?”

                Dean opened his mouth, and air left his lips.

                “I—“ he trailed off, at a loss of what to say all over again. “My phone died,” he decided, lamely.

                Cas was still watching him. Dean couldn’t read his expression.

                “I didn’t get your texts until a few minutes ago,” he continued, “And, uh, here I am.”

                Cas was still quiet. Soundless songs played out between them. Neither of them could speak because neither of them knew what to say. What they could say, what they should say, what they wouldn’t say.

                “I cried all night,” Cas admitted, and his voice showed it. He gave a sour smile, “And the worst part is that you don’t even care.”

                “No,” Dean protested—he wanted to reach forward—but he knew he didn’t deserve it. “I do care, Cas, I fucked up. Shit, I fuck _everything_ up,” and then it all just came pouring out, cascading from his lips like a water, “I didn’t mean what I said about you, I know Meg is a good friend to you, hell better than I am, I know I don’t dictate who you see or hang out with, I know you’re more than the druggie I implied you were, I don’t think you’re like that at all. You’re my dorky little guy that I love and I love to see every day, and I miss you—I miss the way you make me cook for you and the way you like me to mess up your hair. I miss your voice, and hell, it’s only been two days, I miss _you_. I can’t- I can’t imagine who I was before you. You bring out the best in me, and I know I’ve still got some bad stuff, too, but you make it all go away, and I’m so fucking sorry, I know you shouldn’t forgive me, but I really need you too—I need you. I _need_ you.”

                Dean gasped for breath, everything tumbling out of him. The strings unraveled and decorated the floor; he dragged his feet through the sea and grabbed Cas into a selfish embrace. Even if this was the last time he could see him. Dean didn’t deserve to be forgiven. If Cas were smart he’d leave Dean like the trash he is.

                But for now, Dean clung to Cas’ shirt, hid his face in his neck, held onto him like he was the last parachute on a crashing plane.

                “I need you,” he repeated again, “I need you, I need you, _I need you_ ,” he couldn’t fucking stop saying it.

                “Dean, I love you, too,” Cas’ voice cracked. “I know, you were angry, I still don’t know why you got angry, but people say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. You—You didn’t mean it.”

                “I sure as _hell_ didn’t mean it, I promise Cas,” Dean could feel his eyes burning like he was going to cry and fuck this was such a pathetic thing to do. Dean didn’t care.

                After a half minute of Dean and Cas breathing together, Cas spoke up, “You got me guava juice.”

                “Mm,” Dean agreed.

                “That’s my favorite. How did you know?”

                Dean smiled and started laughing. He was so damned happy. He pushed Cas over and kissed him. He combed his fingers through Cas’ tangled hair, playing with it. Cas made a small noise of surprise, but then relaxed back into the mattress.

                “Dean,” he moaned softly, quietly, that word that defined the man who held his world.

               


End file.
